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Hermes Hokitoopaytopoffus

Updated on July 3, 2011
Hermes Hokitoopaytopoffus
Hermes Hokitoopaytopoffus | Source

Welcome to the tiny hedonistic island of Skiathos, a Grecian getaway paradise facing the hulk of Asia Minor across the deep blue Aegean Sea. You are traversing one of the scores of sandy beaches rimming the southerly edge of this small and scenic enclave, when what should greet your poor peepers but Mr. Hermes Hokitoopaytopoffus striding along the strand!

(You must thank the divinities that this chance meeting did not take place at the infamous ‘naturist’ Little Banana Beach just a few kilometers from here, hence Hermes would most certainly be entirely disrobed, and your gaping eyes would be far more rudely assaulted.)

As it is, Hermes’ hirsute physique is at least minimally concealed by that European fashion favorite of the bathing set, the speedoo. (Or, as some French have patriotically taken to calling it, ‘The Balzac’.) At the request of those public servants who must continually dredge the fine sand beach around us of seaweed and other flotsam and jetsam, Hermes has also donned a traditional striped wife-beater to minimize torso-hair fallout.

Mr. H is justifiably quite proud of his dark, thick, gnarly hair — all of it, no matter where it may sprout: nape, nostrils, earlobes, knuckles, bellybutton, palms, backs of knees, etc. So you can certainly understand his dismay to discover a disconcertingly depilitated dome greeting him from his bathroom mirror each morning. He therefore frequented the finest cosmetic appliance shop in all of Greece, Xanthos’ House of the Diminishingly Hairy, to acquire the exceedingly fine blonde vicuna headpiece you see here. (It’s Xanthos’ extremely popular Troy Donahue model, fashioned after the sweeping fair locks of Connie Corleone’s fiance´ — 14 sold in only the last 37 years!)

One final note: No, Hermes does not feel the gaily floral flip-flops in any way undercut his stridently macho self-image; he is quite secure in his evident all-manliness.


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